


According to God’s Plan

by SocialDeception



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Fetishising Religion, M/M, Oral, Uh... Lots of Blasphemy, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:18:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15500145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SocialDeception/pseuds/SocialDeception
Summary: God is watching.





	According to God’s Plan

* * *

 

_Let no one deceive you in any way. For that day will not come, unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and exalts himself against every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God._

2 Thessalonians 2:3-4

* * *

  
Rook had never known his own father. Perhaps only fitting that Joseph called himself just that.

Joseph was sitting on the chair like a throne with his legs spread. He was right where the altar was supposed to be, head tilted up, regarding Rook silently.

He’d said he would be waiting for him where it all began. And here he was.

Rook wanted to laugh. Wanted to cry too, probably. A mixture of everything, relief, anticipation, shame. Joseph didn’t say a thing, just watched Rook over the edge of his sunglasses, expression unreadable.

The church was empty. No one else to kill. Just Rook and the Father, the way it was always meant to be. Joseph knew. Everyone said he’d known all along.

Rook dropped down to his knees, moisture from the church floor seeping into the fabric. It was probably just his imagination, but he almost felt the blood was weighing him down, tugging him even further.

There was so much blood. So much. How the human body could contain so much blood was beyond him, and here it was, soaking into his pants. All those people. Dead.

Because of him.

Neither spoke. The Father was still poised in his chair, observing Rook, and his intense gaze was far too much. Rook lowered his gaze to his own hands. They were dirty and calloused, blood seeped so far below his fingernails that he doubted he’d ever be able to get clean again.

He’d discarded his guns and stepped over the bodies of his allies. He hadn't put the gun to Joseph's head, like he thought he would. Now, why hadn't he?

“I told you God wouldn’t let you take me,” Joseph finally said, a mirror to that night in the helicopter, a night that seemed like a lifetime ago.

With trembling hands poised against the bloody floor, Rook bent his head in a resemblance of a bow.

“None of that,” Joseph murmured. “Come here.”

Joseph had a special way of speaking. Soft. Always so soft, no matter if he talked about salvation or sin, life or death. Paternal, almost, but with an undertow of danger. Rook closed his eyes, considered refusing, considered retreating, but it didn’t take long before he made his way forward. It was awkward, crawling more than walking, his hands moving over blood that was still tacky; a thin, milky film that clung to the palms of his hands. So much blood. Perhaps this was the baptism Joseph had had in mind all along.

Soon Rook was at Joseph’s feet. There wasn’t a drop of blood on him. Not on his boots, his worn jeans, or his naked torso. It was as if he had been shielded from the bloodshed by some unseen force.

Rook extended his own bloody hands, looking up at Joseph’s face for some kind of approval. None was given, Joseph simply stared at him through the tinted glass. With a shivering sigh Rook grabbed ahold of the fabric near Joseph’s calves, and he clung to it dearly. It didn’t seem to matter to Joseph if Rook was sullying him with blood, because his expression didn’t change.

The sun had started setting outside, and shadows had started sneaking in from the corners, obscuring most of the bodies, stretching everything in long, darkened shapes. Despite the dusky lighting in the room, those tinted glasses still reflected off Joseph’s face.

“Do you see now?” Joseph asked, voice pitched low. “Do you understand?”

Sliding his hands up Joseph’s calves until he reached his knees, Rook could do nothing but give a meek little nod. He did see.

He did more than see. He felt it. Smelled it. It was more than the pain of his injuries, more than the intense, metallic stench of blood. It was his beating heart, and the contradictory scent of the Father: somehow both musky and clean, detergent mixed with something wild. Something dangerous.

Joseph had both hands on the armrests, and Rook looked at the simple, leather strap wrapped around Joseph’s hand through lowered lashes. It looked like a primitive rosary bead. He couldn’t say what made him do what he did, but without thinking he leaned forward and let the leather strap and beads play over his cheek and chin, before finally opening his mouth and sucking one of the beads into his mouth.

It tasted of worn leather and earth; those warm, natural tastes that were impossible to explain, like sun warmed skin. He tongued it slowly, and he felt more than he saw Joseph’s intense gaze on him.

“God is watching,” Joseph warned, but Rook couldn’t stop. Not now. He had to show his surrender.

So instead he let Joseph get a good look when he let the bead back out of his mouth, swirling his tongue around it as he did. He’d hoped that Joseph’s expression would change. Anything but that carefully concealed mask he’d only ever seen slip once: After Rook had burned it all away.

After that, Joseph had cracked. All that sorrow. All that anger. All of it.

Rook wanted to see more.

Under Joseph’s other hand was his gospel. Rook had seen that book more than once, of course, in all manner of situations. Usually covered in blood or water, as Joseph’s men had forcefully baptised or impaled countless people. Joseph’s version was worn, but clean, and Rook pressed his face against it, closing his eyes.

“So you do see?” Joseph asked, his voice strained. “You see?”

Yes. Yes, Rook saw. Finally he saw. He didn’t raise his head, just nodded while pressing his lips to the cover of Joseph’s gospel, kissing it slowly.

He halfway expected Joseph to protest, to pull him away, hell, to beat him. But he didn’t. He just went very still, watching Rook from under half-lidded eyes.

Feeling braver, Rook kissed the book deeper, like it had a mouth, had lips. And this time he felt Joseph tense under his fingers. Finally, he got a reaction. He pressed himself closer to Joseph’s legs, licking the bible in earnest. He had kept his hands right above Joseph’s knees, but now he slid them forward, almost until the crease of his thighs.

That’s when Joseph stopped him. He didn’t push Rook away, no, he simply shifted and reached for Rook’s face. And Rook let him.

Joseph cupped Rook’s face, fingers curling around his cheeks, while staring at him, deeply. Rook didn’t back down this time, just let him stare into what felt like the very depths of his soul, if such a thing was even possible. And Joseph searched his eyes until Rook felt completely naked under it. And there. Right fucking there. Those small electric sparkles like an overlay. The shadows pulsing around the corners. The color-changes that didn’t seem altogether natural.

Rook went slack in Joseph’s grasp, melting into the touch.

“You were always unsatisfied,” Joseph said. “Always ungrateful. Always running away.” He brushed his thumb over Rook’s bottom lip. Without his tinted glasses, his eyes were startlingly blue and glassy, just like John and Jacob’s. Rook couldn’t even remember that he had taken them off, but it had to have happened. Even if everything happened in strange, staccato flashes.

He spoke the truth, in any case. Rook had always been unsatisfied. Always running away from one thing or another. Partly why he’d taken this job to begin with.

“You need to be born again, my child,” Joseph murmured softly. “You need to accept your savior.”

It didn’t matter if he was exposing his neck to the beast as he tilted his head back, he still did. He watched Joseph watch him right back, with clear satisfaction this time.

“The body of Christ,” Joseph whispered and Rook knew what to do.

Transubstantiation. A word he still remembered from his childhood. It was the change of essence from mere bread and wine, to the actual body and blood of Christ.

Joseph was still leaned back nonchalantly in his seat, and Rook licked his lips and moved his trembling hands from Joseph’s hips to the fly of his jeans.

It was hard to undo the button, his fingers slippery with both blood and sweat, and Joseph made no effort to help him at all. Somehow he managed, though, and he unzipped Joseph’s fly, licking his lips again.

Joseph’s underwear was tight, his cock clearly outlined against the cotton, and Rook palmed it. Admittedly his touch was perhaps a tad too firm, but he couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and nuzzled the outline of it, breathing him in. Joseph was yet to make a single sound of acknowledgement.

With a quick glance up at Joseph for encouragement, finding none, but continuing nonetheless, he hooked his fingers into the elastics of it, pulling it down. Joseph’s cock was already heavy and semi-hard, and Rook nuzzled it again, feeling its silken heat against his face.

Joseph’s stomach quivered, just a fraction, and Rook felt braver.

He’d never actually done this before, and he used his hand to tip Joseph’s now hard cock to his face. Once against his lips he gave a few licks. He had hoped it would shake Joseph at least a little, but he just stared, unmoved.

Maybe if he just - Rook licked his lips before he enclosed them around the crown of Joseph’s cock and he tried to remember all the things he himself enjoyed. It was hard to think, with the sparkles around them that reminded him of snow.

Inexperience made him sloppy, and he almost gagged as he tried to take in as much of Joseph’s cock as he could. He pulled away, heaved for breath a few times before wiping his mouth and trying again.

Joseph watched him with an amused tilt of his lips. He was so unattainable, even like this, even with a hard cock and a quivering abdomen.

Rook tried again, licking Joseph’s shaft to ease the slide of it, and focused more on moving his tongue than swallowing him down. Joseph still didn’t say anything, but he tilted his pelvis up and thrust shallowly into Rook’s mouth. Well, that was an improvement, even if his expression hadn’t changed.

To compensate for not being able to take him much deeper than just the head of his cock, Rook used his hand to jerk him off simultaneously, ignoring the smears of blood on Joseph’s cock and pants, and the slight metallic taste of it.

Right now he’d bathe in it, if it made Joseph speak again.

And those eyes. Those eyes could pry even the deepest secret from Rook, if he only looked long enough. He averted his gaze, looking down at the long since healed cuts on Joseph’s lower abdomen that spelled “Lust”, one of his sins that wasn’t crossed out. How fitting.

How fitting it all was, come to think of it. The blood currently soaking into the knees of his pants, his sweaty, blood smeared hands pawing over the father, but in all the wrong ways. Not like he was a savior, but merely a body for Rook to savor.

But it was funny, wasn’t it? Swallowing him down like the body of Christ, in an all too literal way. It was funny that he’d wasted so much blood, his own and others, fought this at every turn, only to end up on his knees anyway.

He wanted to laugh except nothing about this was funny.

The light filtered over them, playing over Joseph’s features until he didn’t look right at all. He looked like Jacob, like John. Like all of them, every member of the cult and every scruffy rebel, from the Cook to Eli. All of them shifting through Joseph. Maybe all the blood around them, the blood running through them, were the same as well.

Rook kneaded Joseph’s heavy balls with one hand, while trying to keep a rhythm with the other. His jaw had started to ache a little, but he tried to keep his mouth slack while Joseph fucked into his mouth, working his tongue around him.

God, it felt great being absolutely filled by him, and Rook rubbed himself against Joseph’s leg, not yet daring to move a hand off of him to jerk himself off.

“I knew you wouldn’t resist me,” Joseph said lowly, and Rook groaned against his cock. “I knew you’d surrender.”

Was there a greater way of surrendering than this? On his knees like an obedient dog, the taste of his allies’ blood on his tongue? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he’d do anything to stay just like this.

Joseph’s cock slid in and out of his mouth, until there was nothing else. Just the wet, silken glide of the saviors cock on his tongue. Just the sweetly pungent smell of blood, sweat and gunpowder. Just the strangely colored lights and the snowflakes glittering in it.

Just the two of them.

Something about that thought made the inside of his skull scratchy. _Just the two of them_. It was uncomfortable without Rook fully knowing why. Like a strange pulse of something he was yet to know, or yet to understand. He tried to ignore the nagging sensation in the back of his head urging him to _think_ , and continued to lap on Joseph’s cock instead.

With blood-smeared hands he grabbed Joseph’s wrists, guiding Joseph’s hands to his head. Then he went back to jerking him off, while moving his tongue around the crown of his cock.

He hadn’t thought Joseph would, but he tightened his hold on Rook’s head, intertwining his fingers in his greasy hair. Then, to Rook’s surprise, he started guiding Rook’s head up and down, while thrusting just a little bit harder and faster against Rook’s mouth.

"Judge not,” Joseph groaned, and Rook gave a moan of his own. “Lest you be judged. Condemn not lest you be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven". Joseph sounded breathless. “Do you still judge us? Do you still judge _me_?”

Rook couldn’t answer, because Joseph held his head too firmly for him to pull away, so he groaned and shook his head, slobbering in the process.

“John was wrong about you.” Joseph was grinning above him, an expression that seemed entirely alien on his face, especially since his eyes were still empty and lifeless. “And so was I. Your sin isn’t wrath or pride.” He closed his eyes, pumping his cock in and out of Rook’s mouth. “It’s _lust_ ,” he said, opening his eyes again. “Just like mine.”

Rook couldn’t help himself any longer, he moved his hand from Joseph’s balls to his own crotch. His movements halted a bit as he yanked his belt open, shoving his hand ungracefully into his pants. Then he made an undignified sound as he wrapped his hand around his own cock and started jerking himself off.

“Yes,” Joseph hissed. “ _Lust_.”

Rook agreed with a breathless groan around Joseph’s cock. He tried to savor the act of masturbating, but his stomach was already tight and quivering with an orgasm that seemed as impossible to stop as Joseph himself. He forced Joseph’s cock further into his mouth, until it just barely nudged the back of his throat, and for a moment it felt like he would choke like that.

Instead the feeling of being full with Him tipped Rook over the edge.

It was hard to differentiate the sudden whiteness in his mind and the ever-increasing amount of sparks in the air, hard to differentiate the smell of blood and the smell of the father. Hard to tell if he was coming, or dying.

Because honestly, it felt like laying in a whole field of bliss. Felt like that strange, other world that Faith had taken him to, where Joseph had pressed his forehead to his.

He made a strangled sound as the orgasm rippled through him, pulses of cum shooting into his underwear like some pubescent boy touching a breast for the first time. Instead of the soft curve of a breast, though, it was the harsh angle of a hard cock, and he was way too old to soil himself.

“Good,” Joseph all but purred, still thrusting into his mouth. “Are you ready to receive the blood of Christ?”

Rook nodded fervently, forcing himself not to follow Joseph’s movements when Joseph pulled away from him. Instead he leaned back on his knees, watching Joseph watch him, that strange game they always played.

“No wine.” Joseph clicked his tongue. “We’ll have to improvise.”

Rook halfway expected Joseph to do it literally, cutting his wrist and letting fat droplets of blood fall into his mouth, but instead he jerked himself off over Rook’s face. Rook didn’t blink or hesitate, just opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out.

“The blood of Christ,” Joseph groaned as he came, and Rook felt it drip over his lips, over his waiting tongue. Even over his cheeks and over his chin, dripping down over his chest. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it as blood, and he dutifully swallowed every last drop of it.

“Everything is unfolding according to God’s plan,” Joseph said, a strange echo of what he’d said before, a lifetime ago. “I am still here with you.” He moved his thumb against Rook’s lower lip. “I was right.”

Rook allowed him to touch his lips, his cheek, his eyelids, and he nuzzled into Joseph’s hand, feeling the warmth of everything he had promised him.

“No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him,” Joseph whispered, and Rook drew closer. “They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.”

All of their sins, all of their missteps, had taken them right here. Those sins had lead Rook into Joseph’s arms.

“There will be no more night.” Joseph continued, and Rook looked up at him. The cuts on Joseph’s face had healed now, like there had never been a cut to begin with. Joseph continued before Rook could analyze that sentence further. “They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light.” Joseph looked down at Rook, smiling just a little while stroking his thumb under Rook’s chin. “And they will reign for ever and ever.”

Rook wanted to say amen. Wanted to say a lot of things, but the words were lodged under the lump in his throat and he pressed his face into Joseph’s lap.

The church was so quiet now. The silence all-encompassing and heavy like a weight. A silence that felt more like a tomb and less than the sanctity of any church. A silence he was afraid to break.

The dust and the snowflakes settled around them, filtered through the light. The Father and the child, the throne of God, and the lamb by his feet. Something scratched at the inside of Rook’s mind again, and this time something slipped through the fog in his head.

This wasn’t a church. It was never the church. There was no bodies, no blood, no altar, no light. Just the two of them, six feet under. Like it was meant to be all along.

Then the thought dissipated as Joseph petted him. Rook closed his eyes, and surrendered into Joseph’s arms with total obedience. This was God’s plan, and who was he to go against the will of God?

No matter where it had all started, this was where it had ended.

Joseph had been right.


End file.
